


Have Your Wicked Way With Me (The  Something in the Woodshed Remix)

by lanyon



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age of Ultron spoilers, M/M, Stupid sexy Lumberjack Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cap, when you said you’d sent the Winter Soldier to live on a farm, I genuinely thought you meant you’d had him put down.”</p><p>Bucky growls, low in his throat, and Stark raises his hands. “Hey, c’mon. Easy mistake. Down boy.”</p><p>(A remix of Sirona's <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2532101">The power of the right shirt (a.k.a. God bless America)</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have Your Wicked Way With Me (The  Something in the Woodshed Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sirona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The power of the right shirt (a.k.a. God bless America)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532101) by [sirona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/pseuds/sirona). 



> +Enormous thanks to Sirona for the permission to remix her lovely story.

“Cap, when you said you’d sent the Winter Soldier to live on a farm, I genuinely thought you meant you’d had him put down.”

Bucky growls, low in his throat, and Stark raises his hands. “Hey, c’mon. Easy mistake. Down boy.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to make of Stark. He’s not sure if anyone actually likes him. Sometimes, Steve smiles a little fondly at him but Bucky doesn’t know if that’s because of some variant of Stockholm Syndrome or not. 

Bucky’s kind of enjoying the peace and quiet, though. Or he was, and then Barton brought back a bunch of superheroes and there goes the neighbourhood.

A day later, there’s a Quinjet parked out back and Gabe Jones’ grandson arrives with a bunch of other agents. He has the look of his grandfather, a little, and his humour, too, and he looks at Bucky and Steve with an expression Bucky can’t quite place.  
.

The roof of the farmhouse is rickety and the slates are pink and the whole thing dips where it shouldn’t and hangs over the porch like a curious overbite. From where Bucky is lounging, he can see the driveway as it winds to the main road, which is hidden from view by a cluster of tall trees. There are eight slates that need to be replaced and the gutter is clogged with leaves, a dead bird, an arrow head and one of Bucky’s weapons caches.

He’s pretty sure Barton knows about them. The guy’s got a good eye. He says nothing though, and neither does Sam, who’s spent the last few weeks here with Bucky while Steve has been saving the world and being too heroic for his own good.

Bucky likes Sam. Maybe that’s Stockholm Syndrome, too. Sam asks him to visualise his problems and visualise his solutions and he doesn’t take it personally when he finds a Dragunov on top of the kitchen cabinets or a Makarov between the couch cushions, nestling next to the remote control. 

“Always the way,” Bucky says. “Down the side of the couch. Hey, is that my cellphone?”

.

When Steve and his motley crew arrive, they’re on communications lockdown. 

No more Words with Friends. 

Sam says they can play Scrabble instead but it’s not the same. 

It’s not so bad, though, tracing out letters on the flawless skin on Steve’s back. He punctuates each word with a kiss. 

(Triple word score.) 

.

“It’s just a little too wholesome for me, is what I’m trying to say.” 

Bucky can hear Stark’s voice floating up through an open window. There’s a hint of rain in the air and it’s cold, enveloping Bucky in a mist that is nothing like the bone-deep chill of the cryogenic chamber. He is not frozen. He will never be frozen again.

“Barton’s computer - can we even call it that? It’s like an abacus. It’s a goddamned dinosaur. I tried to play Minesweeper and the thing nearly committed seppuku.”

“Why don’t you make yourself useful, then? Cap said something about chopping firewood. Why don’t you help him out?”

“Ugh,” says Stark. “If that’s not a double entendre, I’m not sure I’m interested.”

Bucky’s interested, though. He could swear that the mist parts for Steve. He strides out to the backyard where there’s a pile of innocent wood, waiting to be chopped. If it knew what was good for it, it would spontaneously split into orderly sticks.

It doesn’t know what’s good for it. Much like Stark, in that regard.

Bucky lifts a slate and pulls out a whetstone, his eyes fixed on Steve. 

“What did Stark want?” he hears Barton ask. 

“I have no idea,” says Coulson. “I kind of zone out when he talks.” 

Bucky likes Coulson. 

Bucky worries that he likes anyone who is kind to him, now. It’s not a good survival technique, despite what Sam says about the importance of human interaction. It’s a weakness. It’s Steve’s weakness and Bucky can’t hear what he and Stark are saying but maybe they’re burying the hatchet. 

Damn, that was good, and there’s no one but Bucky’s own brain to appreciate his astounding wit. He used to have a way about him. He knows that. 

Speaking of hatchets, Steve wields his with fluid ease. Bucky remembers a time when the idea of Steve chopping wood was laughable. Steve was always the one to keep the fire burning and Bucky never tired of being the fuel to his spark.

There’s a hum of conversation and just-audible sighs. If Steve knew, if he _knew_ just how much entertainment he was providing, he’d be embarrassed all to hell but he’s angry now. He’s bristling enough to ignore his own six and his twelve and Bucky pulls a knife out from his boot. 

It’s okay. Stark’s too far away, even with the strength of Bucky’s left arm. He’s safe from flying knives. See, Sam. Bucky’s visualising his problem (Stark) and his solution (a nice, sharp knife).

“ _Fuck_ ,” says a voice downstairs. One of the improbably good-looking agents dressed in svelte, black fieldsuits.

“I would, is all I’m saying,” says another. “That shirt.”

Perhaps mission parameters have changed slightly. Steve can take care of himself if Stark says something unwise. Bucky starts to sharpen his knife. 

(“Is that-?”

“Yeah.”)

The voices drop away. Good.

Bucky looks at Steve again. Oh. He just. Yes. He just ripped a log in half. Maybe Steve should visualise his problems. Maybe he did and the log is Stark’s head. Bucky’s got some suggestions for the next logs, if that’s how Steve wants to play it. 

“Play nice,” Sam says. He’s standing on the porch. “Or you’re both going to bed without any supper.”

I think he means it, Steve, thinks Bucky. 

It’s okay, though. Bucky’ll save some supper for Steve. 

.

Bucky knows that they’ll move on again, Steve and Stark and all the rest, leaving him and Sam to keep house in Clint Barton’s unlikely farmhouse. 

If he’s lucky, his bed and his pillows will still smell of Steve a while longer. 

If he’s lucky, it’ll be at least a week before Sam discovers the hatchet down the side of the fridge.


End file.
